


parlour play

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Therapy Years, Unresolved Romantic Tension, but they are getting there - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “Doctor Du Maurier, I need to ask you a favour,” he starts off, eyes falling on her in an urgent plea. She says nothing, but her eyes gleam with intrigue.“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”“Excuse me?” her eyes widen with instant astonishment. Whatever she thought the favour was, it could not be the farther from this.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 47





	parlour play

It is a rather dull event, just as she predicted.

Bedelia looks up from the rim of her champagne glass, surveying the gathering in front of her. Her eyes slip from one patron to another, spotting few familiar faces, yet most guests remain unknown to her as she has been out of the social events circle for quite a while now. And she would prefer it remained that way. If it were not for the fact that this evening was organised by a colleague from her resident years, she would have declined as well. But Larisa was very enthusiastic about her first charity event, it felt rude not to accept the invitation.

Sipping on her champagne, Bedelia considers the odd melange of guests: medical professionals finally being able to enjoy the fermented fruits of their labour, but appearing mostly out of place, and various socialites, mingling with ease, largely unfamiliar with the concept of work, but eager to add new faces to their collection of influences and fishing for tales of exciting medical adventures.

And then there is the rare case of being both.

Bedelia’s gaze stops its inspection, having reached one, all too familiar, face. Hannibal Lecter, looking striking in a tuxedo, stands surrounded by a group of avid listeners, all enthralled by whatever story he is presently telling. Bedelia’s lips twist in an amused smile. More than a mere social butterfly, her patient is more akin to a social peacock, spreading his vibrant feathers for all to see, perfectly aware of their beauty and the charm he exudes.

The remainder of the rather mundane patrons forgotten, Bedelia continues to observe Hannibal and his pitch perfect performance. The echo of the laughter that follows in tow of his last remark reverberates all the way to where she is standing. It makes several people turn with curiosity, then promptly walk towards the source of the sound, not wanting to miss out on being a part of the excitement. Yet being used to fervent attention, Hannibal Lecter knows well that it is best to leave people wanting more; Bedelia’s smile swells as she watches him abandon his current circle of adoring faces, all falling in dismay now, and move to another group of guests. He makes sure to engage with everyone, as though he were the host of the evening, a skill undoubtedly honed during his frequent dinner parties. Bedelia has been careful to avoid these events, despite his insistence, but now she is able to enjoy observing him in his natural habitat.

Perhaps the evening will not be a complete waste of her time, after all.

Bedelia finishes her drink as Hannibal continues to circulate through the crowd of delighted faces. Surely, some are interested in more than just an engaging conversation, she gathers by several of the adoring stares turning towards lust as minutes pass. She assesses the contenders for Hannibal’s attention, yet their interest remains largely unnoticed by the person in question. Hannibal continues to focus more on being his charming self than the reactions he elicits. Bedelia smirks; apparently no one can compete with Hannibal’s love for himself. But few patrons carry on with their persistence nonetheless; she observes the most determined candidates moving along with Hannibal from one circle of guests to another. One woman seems to be particularly insistent, not leaving Hannibal’s side and attempting to engage him in personal conversation at any moment of respite in the discussion. Bedelia has only noticed the pattern now but suspects the woman might have been clinging to Hannibal’s presence since the beginning of the evening. She appears to be one of the many unnamed socialites Bedelia has no knowledge of, looking young enough, but it is probably just a trick of a light or a product of an invasive skin routine. She purposely tosses her long chestnut hair over her shoulder, her teeth shinning almost ominously as she laughs loudly at another one of Hannibal’s remarks. She has unquestionably set her eyes on a target of a worthy match, Bedelia infers as Hannibal once again moves across the centre of the room and she swiftly follows. Perhaps the extreme persistence will grant her the prize. Or perhaps Hannibal’s taste is better than that, Bedelia concludes in her mind. For some reason, the notion of this awkward pairing settles with bitter tang in back of her throat. It must be the champagne, she thinks at once, even though she has barely drunk a glass. It is none of her business after all, he is merely her patient.

Her gaze shifting away from the sights, she decides to put an end to her scrutiny, walking toward the corner where a bar has been set up and discarding her empty glass on the counter. She turns back to come face to face with the object of her musings.

“Hannibal?” she startles, seeing him suddenly standing in front of her as though she has somehow summoned him by the power of her extensive musings. She does not even consider how he managed to manoeuvre his way here so quickly.

“Doctor Du Maurier, how wonderful to see you here,” he beams at her, “I did not know you were attending this evening. I would have sought you out sooner,” his brow furrows in silent reprimand of himself.

“The host is a colleague of mine. It seemed rude to decline the invitation,” she explains, eyes glancing up and down his stature, finally being able to appreciate his immaculate appearance up close.

“Still, I would not want to miss a chance of your presence, my apologies,” he presses on, his gleaming eyes appraising her look as well. She can almost see herself reflected in their dark pools, emitting light invisible to all but him. “You look beautiful,” he says, never missing a chance to compliment her.

“Thank you, Hannibal,” she cannot help but smile still. She knows he means it each time. “There is no need to apologise. You seemed rather preoccupied with various company.”

“Yes, one can say that,” he states with a rather tense smile, then glances sharply behind him as if expecting someone to be standing there.

“You have appeared to be enjoying yourself,” she tilts her head, assessing his unusual reaction. It is not like Hannibal to be demure. “And gained some avid admirers in a process,” she adds, causing another twitch of his mouth, no longer resembling a smile.

“Perhaps a tad too avid,” he says, making Bedelia’s curiosity light up with a spark. He does not comment of the fact that she has been watching him, just clears his throat, looking suddenly timid.

“Doctor Du Maurier, I need to ask you a favour,” he starts off, eyes falling on her in an urgent plea. She says nothing, but her eyes gleam with intrigue.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

“Excuse me?” her eyes widen with instant astonishment. Whatever she thought the favour was, it could not be the farther from this.

“One of my admirers, as you have put it, Mrs Davis has not left my side all evening and does not seem to be taking my lack of interest into account,” he explains, his unease growing the more details he offers.

“Mrs Davis?” Bedelia asks, trying hard to hide her amusement at this bizarre situation. It is not a common occurrence to see Hannibal Lecter at a loss.

“Yes, she was married to the Francis Davis,” he specifies, “They divorced last year.”

The names mean little to Bedelia, but the situation is rather obvious; she is already looking for a new husband. And a renowned doctor like Hannibal is more than a suitable candidate. The smile pulls at Bedelia’s lips despite her efforts to suppress it.

“And you are not taken by her at all?” still smiling, she cannot stop herself from pressing him further, appearing so unveiled in the most unexpected of ways. She might not get a chance like that again.

“No, I am not interested,” he states firmly, the stern expression on his face making it clear that the mere suggestion is outrageous. “I have told her that I have a paramour, but that has not stopped her either,” Hannibal’s cheeks flush ever so slightly with apparent embarrassment of having to stoop to such measures.

Hannibal Lecter bested by a society lady; now Bedelia has seen it all. Her amusement blooms with a flourish. The evening is proving to be most entertaining after all.

“And you think she would stop if she met your _paramour_?” Bedelia puts a purposeful emphasis on the last word, no longer striving to hide her delight.

Hannibal’s desperation is painted with continuous vivid blush on his skin.

“Yes,” he nods instantly.

“Is this really the best solution for this situation?” she asks, her brow rising with growing disbelief. As much as she is enjoying his fluster, the request is more befitting a couple of teenagers, not a pair of medical professionals.

“The least harmful to all,” he states rather enigmatically.

Bedelia lingers in silent consideration.

“I understand if you are concerned about keeping appearances,” he adds, a different shade of wariness colouring his gaze.

She contemplates the new remark; even if most of the patrons were not unknown to her, she would not care about their opinions of her.

“No, I am not,” she replies, her head tilting anew, “But wouldn’t your _status_ be affected if you met a more favourable match?”

Her eyes flash once as her pointed comment reaches its mark. She sees a moment of reflection in Hannibal’s face as he settles for the most acceptable answer.

“I will not,” he states shortly, his tone firm.

Bedelia’s lips press together as though in deep deliberation; she wishes she could prolong the enjoyment and string him alone for a while longer, but the situation seems to be urgent, according to the increasing plea in his eyes.

“All right, I will help you,” she says at last, watching an instant wave of relief wash over his features.

“Thank you,” the ease in his eyes gives way to a strange excitement, “I am in your debt, Doctor,” he vows his gratitude and turns towards the bar. “I was meant to replenish the drinks,” he adds as an unremarkable afterthought, remembering his original purpose.

Firstly, he takes a glass of champagne and offers it to Bedelia.

“Thank you, but you mustn’t forget to call me by my first name,” she takes the glass from his hand, “People in a relationship tend to do that.”

Hannibal grins, a brand-new spark of relish in his eyes, marking the turn of his evening, then makes another drink order.

“No champagne for your admirer?” Bedelia asks, the amusement fizzing in her mind more than the bubbles of her drink.

“No, she asked for a glass of Chardonnay,” Hannibal responds, his lips twisting in obvious distaste, as if this choice alone made the woman undeserving of his attention. He takes the freshly poured glass of wine from the bartender and turns back to Bedelia. “Shall we?” he motions towards the centre of the room where the hubbub of the evening carries on.

Bedelia steps closer to him and slips her hand around his arm. If she is to play a role, she will do it right. Hannibal’s eyes widen in brief surprise, but the startle vanishes almost instantly, replaced by barely hidden delight, lighting up his face vividly as they walk together. Hannibal’s suitor spots them, or rather him, from a distance and moves swiftly to meet him on his way.

“Doctor Lecter, I thought you had forgotten about me,” the woman exclaims in overly cheerful voice, the fake shock on her face making it clear that the notion is very unlikely. She snatches the glass from Hannibal’s hand before he gets a chance to offer it to her, draining half of its contents in one mouthful. Only then she notices Bedelia; her gaze turns puzzled but narrows immediately when she spots Bedelia’s hand around Hannibal’s arm.

“Mrs Davis, this is Doctor Bedelia Du Maurier,” he pauses, no doubt for a dramatic effect, “My girlfriend.”

The woman looks as if she were strike a non-existing lighting.

“It is nice to meet you,” Bedelia extends her hand and offers the woman a pleasant smile, but her eyes remain sharp and alert, carefully studying the woman’s reaction.

Mrs Davis’ handshake is lacklustre, and she retrieves her hand at once as if she touched a ghostly apparition.

“So, this is the _famous_ girlfriend you were telling me about,” she now turns to Hannibal again, “And I was thinking she did not exist,” she gives Bedelia a throughout stare from head to toes, annoyance at her arresting look hardly disguised, “But you did not mention she was here.”

Hannibal is about to speak, but Bedelia answers first.

“I was not sure if I would be able to make it tonight,” she faints distress, “I had to attend to an urgent patient request,” she clarifies, not untruthfully.

_Technically_ , that is exactly what she is doing now.

“But I did not want to abandon Hannibal,” she carries on, “I know how much he enjoys these events.”

“I do not think I recall seeing you at any of the previous charity dinners,” the woman’s scrutiny persists, her eyes narrowing further with vexation at the immaculate fit of Bedelia’s backless navy dress.

“I am not particularly fond of such events and tend to avoid them,” Bedelia responds smoothly, “Hannibal is the one who thrives on them,” she inclines her head in his direction in a gesture of intimate familiarity as though this alone were reason enough for her to make an exception. “He mentioned you were frequenting quite a lot of events in the last year, how socially concern of you,” she adds and watches as the woman’s expression dims, even in spite of the heavy layer of blush on her cheeks, instantly proving the inference correct. She can feel Hannibal tensing with scarcely concealed excitement, an unuttered hum of delight vibrating within his chest.

“It is important to look out for the least fortunate,” the woman’s mouth twists in a strained smile, “And you can meet some interesting people as a bonus,” she takes a swift, rather lascivious glance at Hannibal.

“I am glad he was not bored while he was waiting for me. Thank you for keeping him company,” Bedelia offers the woman another charming smile while securing the hold of her hand on Hannibal’s arm, making it obvious that such assistance will no longer be necessary.

“It was my pleasure,” Mrs Davis responds, the fake smile melting off her lips. She hides her irritation with another mouthful of wine.

Bedelia takes a sip of her own drink, observing the woman’s growing discontent at a conquest interrupted. Hannibal continues to beam brightly, taking immense relish in the whole situation.

“How did you meet?” putting her empty glass aside, the woman asks with forced interest, still glaring at the two of them, searching for any crack in the perfect façade they present. It is amusing at best.

But the question is there to be answered, making Bedelia realise that perhaps they should have discussed their “story” beforehand.

“We met in medical school,” Hannibal does not seem to be sharing the same concern, responding without hesitation. And factually, recalling their real meeting.

“Oh, and you have been together for so long?” Mrs Davis’ brow creases in disbelief, as much as her stretched skin allows it to. Surely, she would have known if a specimen like Hannibal Lecter had been taken off the table a decade ago.

“No, unfortunately our ways parted as our professional carriers began, different specialities, different residencies,” he explains, a genuine regret in his voice.

Having their history brought back in such a casual way makes Bedelia’s chest tighten unexpectedly. She suddenly wishes the story were made up instead.

“Real life can sometimes trample romantic notions,” she says, hoping to put a swift end to that enquiry.

“So, it was not love at first sight?” the woman interjects, her face stirring with a fresh whiff of opportunity. If they parted once, they would unquestionably part again soon.

“It very much was,” Hannibal reassures at once, bursting the hopeful bubble and making her expression lose the last of its zest, “I could never forget her. I sought her out as soon as I decided to open a practice here. We have been inseparable ever since.”

He pulls Bedelia’s hand closer to him, the warmth of his body radiating through her arm and adding to the strange sensation settling in her chest.

“Hannibal can be very tenacious,” she remarks, hoping the heat does not show on her skin, remembering this is nothing but a role. A role she has agreed to play willingly.

“I am only tenacious in matters of most importance,” he now turns his head to look at her, eyes peering into hers with shining devotion.

Bedelia’s gaze sharpens, icy shards meant to cool his verve and remind him this is a mere game, but she finds herself engulfed in his soft gaze. She averts her eyes, looking back at the woman instead, now having to remind _herself_ about the purpose of this conversation. Mrs Davis is no longer peering at them suspiciously, the malice in her eyes faded and replaced by an opaque grey of resignation. She recognised a quarry utterly lost. Their play proved effective, Bedelia concludes while watching her, ignoring the loud flutter of the heart against her ribs.

All the sudden, long notes of music carry above the clamour of voices, the sound so unforeseen it makes Bedelia think her rapid pulse has somehow materialised in form of pulled strings.

“How wonderful,” Hannibal comments, “I did not know the hostess engaged a string section.” His gaze reaches beyond the crowd, towards the source of the melody, making Bedelia realise that the sound advances from the adjoining room. Few guests are already abandoning their currents spots, drawn to the vibrating notes.

“We must not miss it,” Hannibal smiles, glancing at Bedelia anew, the knowing gleam in his eyes, an indication of intimacy shared between them before.

Bedelia returns the smile, letting the play unfold. Still, despite the lack of such closeness, she knows exactly what is on his mind.

“Will you excuse us, Mrs Davis?” Hannibal turns to the woman with a convincing look of near regret, “It has been too long since I have danced with Bedelia,” he takes the half empty glass from Bedelia’s hand and discards it on a tray of a passing waiter.

“But of course,” the woman responds, her gaze somehow distracted, already in pursuit of a fresh target, having wasted a large portion of her evening in vain.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Bedelia bids her goodbye, watching with fresh amusement as the woman’s eyes fall sharply back at her one last time, “I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

She can feel Hannibal suppressing a chuckle as they walk away.

The music swells as they near the other room, all notes falling into their rightful place. As they cross the threshold, several couples are already occupying the centre of the floor, circling in tempo with the composition. Bedelia expects Hannibal to walk pass the dance space and allow them to vanish in the corner and beyond, but that is not the case. He guides them directly onto the middle of the floor, clearly determined to follow through on his idea of the dance. Perhaps, he expects his admirer to be watching him still. The warm impression of his arm beneath her hand disappears as Hannibal releases the grip and stands in front of her. He offers his hand and she takes it without thinking, the comfort of his hold returning with increased heat as he places the other hand on her back. The hand holding hers applies the gentlest of pressure and he takes a step forward. Her body follows with ease, the continues quiver of her pulse now steadying as she allows him to lead.

“That went better than I could have imagined,” Hannibal states with a pleased smile as they begin to flow with the music, “Thank you, Doctor.”

Bedelia’s eyes narrow; despite Hannibal’s previous desperation, she remains unconvinced about the necessity of the whole charade. Especially considering his current glee.

“I do not believe you could not have achieved the same outcome by yourself,” she retorts, letting him steer her along the floor.

“It saved everyone a lot of time and disappointment,” Hannibal says, as nonchalant as ever, “Mrs Davis can go on to enjoy the rest of her evening without any unmerited hope constraining it.”

“I did not know you had the woman’s best interest in mind all this time,” Bedelia teases him and the hand on her back presses ever so slightly in expression of delight. The sensation trickles down Bedelia’s spine in a pleasurable shiver.

“I could not have done it so well without you. You were very convincing, Doctor,” Hannibal inclines his head in appreciation, eyes glistening with an unspoken emotion, just like they did before.

Bedelia smirks.

“Perhaps I should not have ended my acting career in fifth grade,” she ripostes, an attempt of playfulness disguising the return of heat, threatening to spill on her cheeks.

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth flinches as if he were ready to counter her reasoning, but he leaves it unspoken.

“I am certain you would be brilliant at anything you set your mind to,” he says instead, marking his conviction by gently guiding her body into a gracious turn.

“But then I would not be here to save you from unwanted advances. Perhaps Mrs Davis would have gotten her wish after all,” she teases him anew as he brings her back into his hold, the hand finding its spot on her back with remarkable ease.

“I know we would have met once way or another,” he responds, the unfeigned brilliance still flickering in his eyes.

“I did not think you believed in fate, Hannibal,” she returns, striving to retain her usual sharpness of reason but her mind feels light and woozy, swept away together with her body in Hannibal’s sure embrace. The sensation is new but not unpleasant.

“You are right, Bedelia. I do not,” Hannibal responds, an unyielding certainty in his fixed stare, “I believe in us.”

Before Bedelia has a chance to consider her counter, the music piece comes to an end, a moment of silence followed by an applause from the gathered guests. It takes them both by surprise, interrupting the effortless flow of their bodies and minds. They remain standing in their dancing embrace, somehow unable to move.

Her hand still resting comfortably on Hannibal’s shoulder, Bedelia recognises the final curtain falling on their play. She expects him to thank her again for the assistance and return to his one-man show, probably with more caution this time around. Yet he does not let go of her.

“Would you like another drink?” he offers unexpectedly. Bedelia’s lips press lightly in hesitation as she contemplates their relation, his affirmation still echoing in the back of her mind. But she does not move either.

“Or perhaps another dance?” he ventures as the strings come to life once more.

“Yes, I would like that,” she agrees, stunned by her own prompt response.

She feels instantly elated as he takes a step forward and her body follows his lead afresh. The lightness of her mind returns as they begin to glide across the floor, this time uncoiling her heart as well, and Bedelia relishes the feeling despite her previous objections. There is no reason why she should not enjoy more of his company tonight.

“You are in my debt, after all,” she remarks in attempt to account for her eagerness.

Hannibal smiles and pulls her closer.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a nice a twist to write on the usual fake dating trope since I always had Hannibal doing the pretending (but not really). He is hardly pretending here either. Bedelia ~thinks she is.  
> I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading and stay safe everyone!  
> You know what would make your tired bedannibal writer really happy? Commeents! Please and thank you.


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